


power and control

by meios



Series: kinktober 2017 / goretober 2017 [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Kind of Abuse?, Kinktober 2017, M/M, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 18:19:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12259602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meios/pseuds/meios
Summary: "disgusting."





	power and control

**Author's Note:**

> Day 2: Dirty talk and watersports

“You’re _disgusting_ , old man.”

 

A heavy boot presses against his Adam’s apple, and in the darkness, a floodlight draws the silhouette of the boy like an angel, hair wild and curled like devil horns, his voice a rasp like cigarettes. Smoke trickles from an open mouth, hands in the pockets of a leather jacket. Jason’s grown so much. Bruce shudders.

 

“Look at you,” Jason whispers, nudging Bruce’s face with the tip of his foot, “fuckin’ degenerate. What’s goin’ on in that head of yours, huh?” He squats down, and now Bruce can see the glitter of intelligence in Jason’s eyes, the way he cocks his head a bit as he takes in the way the older man’s chest heaves, the flush on his face. “You been wanting me for a while now. What was it, B? The way I kissed you before I died? When I crawled into your lap? D’you know I sucked cock and pretended it was yours?”

 

Bruce hadn’t, or at least tells himself that he hadn’t, and he can fight back, he knows he can, but this boy has always been a weakness, this undead boy with lifeless eyes and a big gun, and Jason holds his face between his index finger and his thumb. A fingerpad traces the outline of his mouth; Bruce sucks it in, tongue laving over the dirt and the blood, the salt of sweat leftover, the scent of leather.

 

Jason’s breath stutters. “How long’ve you wanted this?” he demands.

 

“Too long,” Bruce finally admits, words slurred around the newly added fingers. He cleans them like he was born to do just this. Only this. His eyelids flutter.

 

“Creep,” Jason spits. “You probably want me to take you right now, don’t you? And y’know, maybe I would if I thought you deserved it. Hell, God knows how long I’ve wanted to climb on top of you ’n ride you all night, keep you under me for so long they come lookin’ for you. And they’d only find you and me, and I’d’ve ruined you for everyone else and _maybe you wouldn’t’ve let me die_.”

 

Jason rips his hand away from Bruce only to press it to the man’s throat, though he does not squeeze. The ground is getting colder, words lending it ice. “I could kill you right now. You wouldn’t care, either, would you?” he whispers.

 

Bruce shakes his head, tries to arch his back and his throat and his thighs—erection tenting his slacks and turning dark fabric darker with how hard he’s been, how long he’s been. There is a brief moment where his breath cuts off like a bad note, and though he does not fight it, Bruce’s eyes shoot open, stare at Jason’s shadow.

 

The moment ends. Bruce coughs and inhales deeply.

 

“Fuckin’ disgusting,” Jason repeats, stands, takes his hand with him. Bruce almost scrabbles for it, almost asks for it back.

 

Instead, he only says, “Jason,” like a prayer.

 

“You want something from me?” he asks, doesn’t wait for an answer. He’s undoing the buttons on his pants, dragging the zipper down. He pulls his dick out, hard and leaking, and Bruce’s mouth fucking waters, slips around the word _please_. “Open your goddamn mouth, B.”

 

Bruce does.

 

Wetness hits him first, hot and sour and distinctly not what he’d expected, but there’s something intimate here, something powerful, Bruce’s heart in his throat and in his chest and in his stomach, and his cock pulses with every breath he takes. The piss seeps from the edges of his open mouth, punctuated by Jason’s humorless laugh.

 

But then, in the darkness, Jason’s hand moves along himself, his legs spreading wider, back arching, his head thrown back, and perhaps it is the idea that Bruce is so pliant, so agreeable, so gross—gross, absolutely fucking gross—that turns Jason on so much, or perhaps this is simply a fantasy, but when Jason comes, he howls, mixes it with the piss on Bruce’s face, in Bruce’s mouth, and the force of it seems to wind the boy.

 

“Swallow it,” he says after a while, tucking himself back inside his pants. When Bruce does, Jason shakes his head. “Filth.”

 

The sound of retreating footsteps is the only thing that makes Bruce sit up, rub the heel of his hand on his own erection, whimper at the sensation of it. This isn’t the last time this will happen, and the realization brings a glimmer of hope to his pounding heart.


End file.
